It's My Party
by PaperFrames
Summary: Olivia only wants two things for her birthday. One of those things involved her husband, naked and moaning. The other involved her daughter, some gummy bears, giggling, and a Disney film. But the best laid plains of mice and (wo)men often go awry. Three-shot. Post season 9 AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I'm still on a _semi hiatus_ because of my LSAT, which OW, but I promised this fic to the lovely **lucyspencer** who i've come to consider a friend and pseduo fic beyoncé, as a birthday gift. While her birthday was bout a week ago (week ago) I'm giving it to her now - in parts- because I suck. Part 2 should be up tomorrow. It's basically finished.

**Timeline:** So, I don't usually write out explicit timelines because I think it takes the fun out of things, but alas, I had no choice for this piece. Of course it is an AU, though some canon events still happened. Here we go.

This takes place in 2015, Olivia's 47th birthday. Everything up until the aftermath of Undercover, i.e. Olivia's relationship with Kurt, happened and for now that's all you need to know! Haha. You'll give more when I publish part two. Promise.

Instead of Kurt, Olivia ended up in a relationship with narcotics cop/one time one-night-stand, Brian Cassidy. They snuck around for roughly 6 months. Meanwhile, Elliot and Kathy's marriage rapidly flamed out, and both parties willingly conceded to divorce. It wasn't until Kathleen became sick and Elliot leaned heavily on Olivia that the two managed to come together. Their relationship started in October 2008, their daughter was born in June of 09. They married in January of 2010. (Maybe if interest peaks i'll write this as a full blown story haha).

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, it ain't mine.

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><p><strong><em>It's My Party <em>**

(part I)

_It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to_  
><em>Cry if I want to, cry if I want to<em>  
><em>You would cry too if it happened to you<em>

_(December 13th, 2015)_

_Why didn't I turn off the alarm?_ It's the first thought that pops into Olivia' mind as she rolls over in bed, the sounds of John Bonham drum solo jolting her out of a much fought for slumber.

The cool December air tickles her toes as she begrudgingly pulls the blanket over her head to block out the blaring drum solo and it leaves her feet exposed.

It's time to rise and shine and she couldn't be more disgruntled.

Waking is the last thing she wants to do today.

Today is B day: her birthday.

She's always detested her birthday; hated it with an almost innate passion. If she could wipe the day off the calendar, pretend it didn't exist, she would.

It wasn't the aging that bothered her, either. Another year lived was another lesson learned. Matter of fact, she felt more comfort, more at peace and at home within herself than she had ever felt in her 20s and 30s.

The real reason she detested when the clock changed from 11:59PM December 12th to 12:00AM December 13th was what it symbolized: the subsequent and immediate unraveling of Serena Benson.

Dead for 17 years, her mother still managed to intermittently occupy Olivia's thoughts, even more so when she examined her own life, the decisions she'd made, who she'd become, and her abilities as a mother.

From a turbulent childhood to a rebellious adolescents came a promiscuous young adulthood. More men had ended up in her bed than she cared to recount - each one taking a piece of her with them.

Atonement and martyrdom then became her fulcrum. Saving those who couldn't save themselves, her passion.

Rarely did she ever do something for herself, yet somehow along the way she fell in love.

He'd been her saving grace. Her oversized white knight with bruised knuckles, a notorious temper, and eyes as blue and as deep as the ocean.

Their road to happiness had been a tumultuous one, at best. Filled with more ups and downs than a tilt-a-whirl. A not so ex-wife, a gun to the head; knife to the throat, undercover, dead father, half brother, IAB investigation, _five_ kids, shredded divorce papers, attempted rape, an old boyfriend, divorce, denial, and finally a relationship.

But they'd weathered it all, together.

Five years later they had a strong marriage and an even stronger five year-old: Grace Magdalena Stabler.

Life was good, and Olivia was hell-bent on keeping it that way. She refused to let her birthday ruin anything.

Especially when Olivia already knew exactly how she wanted to celebrate: banging her husband into oblivion and watching _The Princess and the Frog_ for the billionth time while chewing on sugar free gummy-bears with her daughter.

She wanted to get lost beneath her husband's fingertips as he played her body likely a finely tuned instrument, listen to the melodic laughter of her daughter, and most of all block out the insistently nagging voice inside her that told her she'd ruin this – ruin everything eventually. Just like she'd ruined her mother.

The drumming intensifies as the song reaches it's climax and Olivia growls, wondering why exactly she'd allowed Elliot to set her alarm to a 3-minute drum solo of Moby Dick.

Huffing, she finally sits up and snatches the phone off the nightstand and silences the cymbals and drums. Her brows furrow together in slight confusion as she realizes that her husband is nowhere to be found; the spot next to her cool beneath her slender fingers, and the shower, silent.

Brown eyes roam the bedroom in search of a note to explain his whereabouts, but there's nothing. No note or text message to be found. It was 10AM on a Saturday morning, a Saturday morning he'd been adamant about having off from the 2-4.

Olivia grumbles, burrowing herself back down into the covers and groaning. _If he's making today some big deal, I'm going to kill him. If he even thinks about coming in here with breakfast in bed, I'm going to beat him. Today is not a celebration. _

Ten or so minutes pass by, but there's no Elliot to be found or breakfast in bed. And the house is quiet, strangely quiet. Silence on a Saturday morning with a five year-old and five step-kids… it was a rare occurrence indeed, unlikely in the highest.

Matter of fact, adjusting to the constant influx of random kids and stepchildren had definitely been a fete for Olivia. Going from a one-bedroom apartment in upper Manhattan to a three-bedroom house in Queens had been a challenge. Finances weren't the issue, though Olivia knew that Elliot – in contrast to his protests – did mind her footing the majority of the bill. His eyes had nearly bulged out of his head when he'd learned just how much money Serena had left her daughter. The problem had been getting used to family life in general, but Olivia had wanted something different for her daughter.

_10:23AM. _

Standing and stretching, the cool December air bites at Olivia's naked legs and she shuffles over to the thermostat, turning up the heat.

When it finally kicks on, the familiar rumble of the influx of air through the heating ducts floods the house. She waits for the pitter-patter of tiny feet and a knock on the bedroom door. Grace insisted that the sound of the heat turning on was the monster from the basement coming to get her. The house had been built in 1935, and the heating duct system – though not as old as the house – was nearing the age of replacement and Elliot insisted on a DIY project. Sometimes Olivia wondered if life in homicide left Elliot with too much free time.

The soft footfalls never come, however, and neither does the knock, there's no familiar mane of chestnut locks, cherub cheeks, or green eyes begging for mommy or daddy to make 'it' go away. In fact, the silence was alarming.

"Alright, where are you?" Olivia mutters and she shuffles over to her bedroom door, grabbing her fluffy pastel purple robe from the hook and slipping it on over Elliot's oversized t-shirt that she'd been using for a nightgown since she'd confiscated whilst pregnant with Grace.

Slender fingers wrap around the door handle, ready to jerk it open and investigate the radio silence when the door opens.

Elliot.

"And where do you think you're going?" He asks, that devil-may-care, shit eating, 'I'm-definitely-up-to-something' grin on his face. There's no breakfast platter in hand or any other campy birthday gift, which Olivia is extremely grateful for.

"To see why my five year old is so quiet at 10AM on a Saturday morning..."

"Don't worry about it. Just know she's in one piece, healthy, and being taken care of..." He steps into the room, still grinning, and kicks the door closed behind him. His hands immediately fly to her waist and trail up her sides until he's pushing the plush material from her body.

"Really, and by who?"

"I think I left her with Munch and Fin somewhere uptown…" His lips find their way to her neck, and he begins to trail warm, sloppy kisses from her collarbone to her jawline. "Or maybe she's out with one of her many siblings, waiting for us to make another…"

"Another one, huh? Don't you think seven kids might be a bit much? Besides…labor's a bitch…" Olivia rolls her eyes and sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, fighting to suppress a moan as his tongue hits her soft spot, right behind her ear. _Perhaps my day is on track after all. Banging husband, check. _

Elliot murmurs something into her neck, and shivers march down Olivia's spine. As much as she's enjoying the nice and slow, the flirtatious and fun, she really just wants his hands all over her. "El, I love this, I do, but…"

His hands are everywhere before she even has a chance to finish her sentence. He's grabbing and pulling on her nightgown, bunching it up around her waist as his tongue finds its way into her mouth. His body is hard against her soft curves and they stumble backwards for a moment until Elliot's hands run down her ass. Olivia squirms against his touch and he lifts her up, her legs wrap instinctively around his waist and he carries her over to the bed.

"What do you want, birthday girl?" his voice gruff as he settles between her legs, balancing on his elbows. He was like granite sandwiched between her thighs, the years had been good to him, indeed.

"I want you to fuck me, hard and fast." _I want you to make me forget my name._

Her answer catches him off-guard, Olivia can tell because although the look is fleeting, she doesn't miss Elliot's brows quirk in question. She knows he's worried about her deviation from her normal coitus choices. She liked soft and slow, visceral and passionate with Elliot. Sure fucking him against the nearest wall was always a thrill, but she much preferred to 'make love' to her husband, not fuck him or vice versa.

"You sure? You don't want me to sing happy birthday to you first?" He asks playfully, nipping at her earlobe. One of his hands slips between their bodies and travels south, crawling along her thigh, and then up to the waistband of her panties.

Forever worried about her, Olivia rolls her eyes at Elliot's seemingly innocuous question. "Hard and fast, old man - or you can't do it anymore?"

The words light a fire underneath Elliot and within seconds they're both naked, the quilt pulled back. Olivia's kissing him, hard and needy, her legs wrapped around his waist as her heels dig into his ass, and draw him into her, deeper until she's moaning.

"Fuck me, El." _Make me forget. _

His thrusts are slow at first, and Olivia finds her annoyance peaking. Her nails dig into his shoulders, encouraging him to move it along and his mouth crashes into hers. Finally getting the message his movements become more hurried, yet deliberate and hard. His strokes are shorter, faster, and they leave Olivia gasping for breath, her back arching off of the bed.

Just a few more thrusts and she'd be set to go. Just a few more and…

"Mommy!"

"Dad!"

Their bedroom door flies open and there's shouting, the sound of little voices arguing. Olivia's heart leaps into her chest and she freezes. Elliot physically jumps back and they're both trying to wrap the heavy, dark blue quilted comforter around them.

Grace and Eli._ Shit._

"You didn't lock the door?" Olivia hisses, as the two children come into view. Grace's brown hair is in pigtails and there's powder sugar all over her face.

"They were gone!" defends Elliot.

"Eli told me I was stoopid."

"Gracie won't share her legos."

The comforter is clutched so hard against Olivia's chest that her fingers are pale white from gripping the material so hard. She's trying to find the words to say when the she's cut off by a familiar voice.

Kathleen Stabler.

"What did I tell you two when we came in? Clean up your toys and behave!" Kathleen reprimands her younger siblings, coming into view as she rounds the stairs and comes to stand in the doorway.

Olivia's eyes quickly scan the room for her nightgown and she sees it in a heap, not too far from where her daughter now stands.

Fuck.

"Uh, Kathleen…" Elliot mumbles and he's somehow managed to find and put on his own sweat pants, though his second eldest is paying little attention to him; she's too busy with her siblings.

"I bought you each a coloring book and donuts, and the deal was there'd be no fighting. Dad, Liv, I'm sor –" She starts as she turns towards the two adults for the first time and a look of pure horrification falls across her face, no doubt at the scene before her.

Olivia cringes.

"Oh, you're uhm… you're doing it. Wow, okay. Uhm. Alright… You two, downstairs now." Kathleen growls, and she's grabbing the two children who are locked in a stare-off by the tops of their heads and leading them out of the room.

She makes certain to close the door and avoid all eye contact with both her father and step mother.

Face flushed, and thoroughly embarrassed, Olivia sinks down into the bed. So much for a mind numbingly, much need hard and fast fuck from her husband. so much for forgetting.

Her stepdaughter her stepson and her daughter all just caught her with her legs in the air.

Birthday: 1. Olivia: 0.

/

After showering and avoiding all eye contact with Kathleen, Olivia paddles her way into the kitchen. Grace and Eli sit at the breakfast bar. Eli's coloring, his blonde curls shinning brightly against the sunlight that filters in through the kitchen window. Grace is elbow deep in a stack of McDonald's pancakes; syrup hanging off of her fingers and Olivia kisses the top of her head on the way to the coffee pot.

Happy birfday, mommy!" Grace shouts through handfuls of pancakes, her words hindered by flying bits of food.

"Yeah, happy bir_th_day, Livvie." Eli adds, not even bothering to lift his head from his coloring book.

Olivia breaths a sigh of relief as both children seem to have forgotten the scene (an unfinished performance, sadly) they'd walked in on mere moments ago, and she settles against the counter. Later, they'd finished what they'd started later.

But the silence doesn't last long.

"It's birthday, Gracie." Eli says, and Olivia already knows what's coming next, another argument. Elliot Jr. and Olivia Jr. (as everyone had dawned Grace), lived to argue with each other.

"That's what I said!" insists Grace.

"Uh no. You said birfday. It's birthday. There's not an f. This is why you're supposed to pay attention in school. You're never going to make it to third grade like me."

"Yes I will! I'll make it to this many grade –" she holds up both her hands. "And you'll still be in the third."

"No I won't because I'm older than you. I was born first."

Olivia sighs; well, this is what she wanted, a normal every day birthday. No big shebang, no party, no one going out of their way to make her happy. Grace and Eli arguing was commonplace; normal according to Elliot who told her that his two youngest reminded him of his twins.

"Alright you two, come on. Be nice to each other before I make you both spend the day handcuffed together."

They stick their tongues out at each other and then go on their way. Silence settles in once again and Olivia finds herself starring out the kitchen window, a few snowflakes fall. She thinks back to her thirteenth birthday, way back in 1980. There'd been a bad snowstorm and she'd been trapped, alone in her apartment while her mother drank the night away at the local bar – like she'd done most of her daughter's birthdays. When Serena did finally show up, she'd smacked Olivia for forgetting to put the clean dishes away, called her useless, and then passed out drunk on the sofa.

"What were you and daddy doing?" Grace's innocent voice breaks through the fog, the haze of childhood memory.

The question clearly catches Olivia off guard, causing her to choke on her coffee, sputtering ineloquently.

"What, Gracie..." Shit she knew this question was coming, it was inevitable. "Gracie, why don't you go get the _Princess and the Frog_ out and you and I can—"

But before she can sidestep the conversation in total, Eli chimes in, eyebrow quirked and gaze scrutinizing, appraising. He was definitely Elliot's son. "Yeah Katie said you were doing 'it." What's _it_?"

Death and birth were supposedly bookends on the spectrum of life, and Olivia was certain this was how she was going to die. Mortified to death (if that was even possible) at the hands of her five-year-old daughter and eight-year-old stepson on her birthday.

"Well, when a mommy and daddy love each other they uh…uhm…we, it is…" she doesn't want to have the sex talk with either of them, ever.

But she doesn't have to; the symbolic bell saves her.

Elliot walks into the kitchen, nonchalant as can be, NYPD t-shirt on, sweat pants sitting low on his waist, hair wet, and barefooted. Olivia watches him, her eyes following his frame and she wonders just how he can be so cavalier about the morning's events. He pours himself a coffee and plants himself in between his two children, who have both gone back to their previous events, grinning as he stares at his wife.

"You okay, Liv?" he asks, a teasing quality to his tone and Olivia narrows her eyes.

"Just peachy. Come on Gracie, let's get you cleaned up, baby."

Birthday: 2. Olivia: 0.

/

Olivia's spread out on the couch, arm slung inelegantly across her face, dressed in a pair of yoga pants, a plain white t-shirt, and a pastel purple cardigan. Much to her dismay, she's alone and the silence deafening; she's quickly come to realize that she's the worst at keeping herself company.

Her lovely husband who had insisted on sending their daughter to spend the day with her siblings so that they could have a peaceful day finishing what they'd started earlier, had been called in to work on an emergency, promising he'd return as soon as it was possible.

She's tried everything to fill the silence, stave off the inevitable boredom; watching television, reading a book, getting ahead on some DD5's, but nothings sufficed. Long dormant demons have come out to play and she can't stop thinking about her mother.

She thinks about her sixteenth birthday and how, while other girls were having lavish 'Sweet Sixteen's,' she was sitting idly in her mother's lecture hall. A boy she'd never seen before approached her and she thought he'd been her saving grace. He was 21 with bright green eyes, shaggy blonde hair, and a stupid grin. Eventually, about two months after her not so sweet sixteen, she'd lost her virginity to him and he'd asked her to marry him. Without thinking, she'd said yes; tired of schlepping an adult to and home from the local bar; tired of taking care of an adult who didn't take care of herself. Her recompense for thinking her mother would ever let her go without a fight had been a scar above her right eye, just below her eyebrow.

Next her 19th birthday comes to mind - Sienna College and freedom. It'd been the week before finals and in a drunken haze she'd called her mother, hysterically crying and doing what she'd yet to have the courage to accomplish sober: give Serena a piece of her mind.

Her thoughts spiral out of control and she finds snippets of memories coming to mind, random memories long forgotten, but somehow find their way into her psyche.

She's twenty-two, arguing with her forty-nine year old boyfriend about her period being a week late; he's shoving money into her hand and telling her to 'abort the bastard.' Her fingers dial her mother's number and just as Serena says 'hello' she slams the phone down.

Then she's twenty-five, and her feet are finally planted firm on the ground. She's a rookie, wet behind the ears and on uniform duty when the radio call comes in: "drunken disorderly, woman demands to speak to an Office Benson."

And the memories go on and on.

She doesn't realize that she's dozed off until she feels tiny hands on her shoulder, shaking her awake.

"Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"

Olivia's eyes fly open at the sound and Grace is in her lap. "Gracie?"

"You have to wake up mommy. Please stop drinking mommy. Why don't you love me, mommy? Please love me. Mommy, love me, please!" Grace pleads, and the tears build in Olivia's throat. She opens her mouth in confusion, to rebuke Grace's words, to let her daughter know that she does and she always will love her. But suddenly Gracie's gone and she's not in Queens any more.

She's in a two-bedroom shoebox in uptown Manhattan. A rotting stench hangs in air and a brown haired little girl, probably no older than eight, is huddled in a corner. The little girl's knees are pulled tightly to her chest and she's crying, sobbing and muttering.

Carefully, and with great amounts of caution Olivia approaches the child. "It's okay, honey. It's okay… my name is Olivia. Has someone hurt you? Are you okay? You can talk to me, I'm a policewoman and I can help you… I have a daughter. She's a little younger than you, but she has beautiful brown hair just like you…"

The little girl doesn't say anything; she doesn't lift her head that is buried in her knees.

"Get in here now, Olivia!" Another voice screams and Olivia jumps her head whips around at the sound of the familiar voice, searching for its owner, and the little girl shouts.

"But momma, it's my birthday, I'm a good girl. Please. I'm a good girl! I'll be a good girl."

"Now you useless brat!"

The little girl scurries to her feet and Olivia's eyes widen in horror; she's looking at the younger version of herself, except her eyes aren't her eyes; they're the familiar shade of green that dawn her daughter's face.

"But momma…momma please. It's my birthday."

A vodka bottle sails past adult Olivia and smashes against the wall above little Olivia, who starts screaming.

"Don't, stop!" older Olivia shouts, and she hears footsteps, screaming, cursing. Both she and young Olivia brace themselves for the oncoming footfalls when –

"Olivia! Olivia! LIV, LIV! WAKE UP LIV!"

When Olivia's eyes snap open this time, the room is basked in a warm glow, the overhead lamp is on and she's staring at her husband. Her breathing is shallow and she's clutching the throw blanket to her as if she's holding onto it for dear life.

"Gracie, where's Gracie?" she cries, salty tears running down her face and she's trying to stand. Strong hands keep her in place, seizing the tops of her arms in a tight yet gentle grip. The couch cushions shift beneath the second person's weight and finally Elliot comes into focus.

"Shh, Liv, shh. It was just a bad dream; I've got you, baby. I've got you." He repeats softly, his thumbs moving in circles along her arms. "It's okay. Gracie is with her sisters; she's safe. I just talked to Maureen not too long ago. They're all okay. Okay?"

"Oh god, El." Olivia cries and she's shrugging out of his hold and wrapping her arms around his neck, clearly shaken to the core.

Elliot's hands run up and down her back as he attempts to calm her, still muttering soothing words to her, his breath warm against her neck. "Just calm down, okay. Calm down. It's okay. What ever was happening in that pretty little head of yours: it's over. You're okay…"

Nodding, Olivia's chin sinks into his shoulder and they stay locked together for moments, Elliot's hands oscillating from an up and down patter to small circles.

Deep breaths in, deep breaths out, Olivia finally settles herself, brushing the tears away as she finally lets Elliot go.

"Want to tell me what was going on?"

Olivia shakes her head no. "Not really, at least not right now. Right now I want to go upstairs and just forget…" Her lips smash down hard on his and she's pulling him down on top of her. It is very blatant what she wants.

Quickly her fingers make work of his tie and she's yanking it from around his neck and throwing it to the floor.

But that's as far as she gets. Elliot's sitting up, partially out of breath and grinning, running a hand over his face and shaking his head.

"Babe, I'd love to make love to you right now, but – and I don't want to hear you say how you didn't want this – I made early dinner reservations for us at Meloni's, you know that restaurant that just opened and you've been talking about it…And no the reservations weren't for your birthday. This just happened to be the only time slot free. "

"Can't we just cancel them and go upstairs?"

"Go put on something nice and we'll leave. Our reservations are at six, it's 4:27 right now."

"Why don't you come get ready with me?" she suggests, biting down on her bottom lip and giving him her best Betty Davis eyes.

But Elliot is firm, leveling her with a "Liv" that could rival Desi Arnaz's _Lucy_.

And that's not the answer she wants.

"Fuck today." she hisses, storm clouds brewing behind her eyes as she untangles herself from the sofa and her husband, then stomps upstairs. Her nightmare is still fresh in her memory and all she wanted was to forget it, forget what today symbolized under the exhilarating rush of an orgasm.

Would she ever get what she wanted today?

Birthday: 3, Olivia: 0.

/

Early dinner was a bust, a catastrophe of epic proportions, if she was being honest with herself. The waiter had been rude, the food cold, the reservations almost nonexistent. Some birthday this was shaping up to be. Not that she had many expectations, either, but still. After the way in which the morning had started out paired with the utter boredom _and_ nightmare that had gripped her midday, she was hoping somewhere along the way that up was the only way to go.

But whom was she kidding? Her birthday had always been a travesty; at its root it was an abomination.

All she wanted now was to finally bang her husband, crawl into her daughter's bed – snuggle, and then sleep.

No more 'happy birthdays' – which she seemed to be severely lacking (counting Kathleen, her husband, daughter, and Eli, only one other person had even wished her a happy birthday so far: TENA) –to be had.

"I'm so sorry, Liv," Elliot says for the thousandth time as they climb the stairs to their humble Queens abode.

Olivia pulls on the hem of her little black dress, wishing she'd gone with full blow tights instead of thigh high hosiery in the cool December air.

"Its fine, babe. Really. I just wish you'd stop trying to make my birthday some grand event to celebrate when it's never really been that. Besides, I said I didn't want any fuss, and I guess no one bothered to try fussing…" she lets her words filter off, feeling no need to explain; he knew why she hated the day. Of all the people she was close to he probably knew why the most.

"I know, but I was just hoping…"

"Yeah, I used to hope to, but I can't change how I came to be, so I just stopped," the dejection in her tone evident as shuffles sideways, allowing Elliot access to the door handle.

"I wish there was a way I could make it up to you, Liv."

"There actually is…" Olivia grins, her hand stilling his as he goes to turn the door handle. "We started something this morning that I tried to initiate this afternoon…" she rolls her eyes "that I'd really like to finish and since Gracie is still with the girls…"

And thank god their porch censor seems to be on the fritz at the moment because Olivia's hands are on Elliot's belt buckle then, and her mouth is trailing warm kisses from his chin to his neck. She wants this so fucking bad that she may die if he doesn't get inside her soon.

"Liv, wait, I really…"

"Your body isn't saying wait." She hisses, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth and tugging it into her mouth. She oscillates between biting and sucking the tender flesh until a strong, guttural groan radiates from Elliot's lips and he's pushing her against the door, one hand flying to her waist, the other still on the door handle. One of his thighs is sandwiched between her legs and fuck this feels great. Now if she could just get her dress up over her ass…

"Liv…"

"Please, just fuck me, Elliot…" She grits, his lip still in her mouth, and she pulls down his zipper, caressing his already hard length through his black trousers.

"Fuck, woman, you're going to be the death of me…"

"Hard and fast…" _High and numb, please_: those are the last words she manages before she hikes up her dress, bunching the material up to mid-thigh and turns the door handle.

"But Liv, wait…"

"Now."

Two officers of the law, having sex on a porch was bad for business, after all.

They fall through the threshold, stumbling backwards as Olivia sheds her jacket, tossing it on the ground. Next she's shimming out of her thong and into Elliot's arms, literally throwing herself at him. Her lips meet his in hard kisses and his fingertips sink into the small of her back, almost like he's trying to halt her motions.

She's so excited to finally be getting what she's wanted all day when…

"SURPRISE!"

The living room lights fly on, and Olivia's head snaps up.

In front of her stands her daughter, four of her five step-children, her husband's ex-wife, her boss and pseudo father, a slew of friends including Munch, Casey, Fin, Alex, and Melinda, a half-brother and sister-in-law, a niece and nephew, one ex-boyfriend, and the two new rookies - Rollins and Amaro, who she didn't know well enough to consider friends just yet; their mouth's are opened, gapping.

Fuck.

Olivia wants to die; scratch that, she IS going to die, tucked into Elliot's arms, underwear at her ankles.

"Are they doing it again?" comes Eli's voice.

Someone's snickering then, and Olivia would bet her last dollar that it was either Rich (as Dickie was now calling himself) Munch, Fin, or hell even Brian because inviting him had clearly been a good idea.

Eli's question is quickly followed up by Grace, who asks, "mommy, why'd you take off your undies? You said big girls keep em' on at all times when in prublic."

That's it. She's running, running far away and the fuck out of dodge.

Her fingers uncurl from Elliot's lapels, and she takes off in a flash, running up the stairs to sanctuary.

Birthday:4, Olivia: 0.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** So this story has completely gotten away from me (lucyspencer is partially to blame, too, along with my sheer procrastination with LSAT preparation because logic isn't very logical - js). Anyways, what was supposed to be a two shot has turned into a three-shot (because it will only be a three shot, this I promise myself) and an almost prequel (Do _you_ want to know how the lovely Stablers got to this lovey dovey point?)

Anyways, enjoy and the next part will be rated M. This part is all fluff and humor with a tiny weenie bit pg-13 (if that) smut at the end.

I hope you enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, it's not mine.

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><p><strong>It's My Party<strong>

(Part 2)

"Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god..." repeats Olivia as she paces her bedroom floor. Her heart is thumping madly and there's an acute headache building between her temples.

Twice.

She's been caught _twice_ trying to get her rocks off with her husband. This time the whole damn world might as well have been watching her as she shimmied out of her underwear and damn near molested her husband in plain view. The more she thought about it, the more she considered arresting herself. What the hell was wrong with her? It was the day, her stupid birthday – a cursed day.

That was the only conceivable explanation. Usually she wasn't this overzealous, this eager to shed her clothes and throw all caution to the wind, but today… there was just something about today.

A knock shakes her from her thoughts and Elliot pokes his head in through their bedroom door. A grin pulls at the corner of his lips and his brows crinkle together, as if he's trying not to laugh. "You okay?" he asks, walking into the room and shutting the door behind him.

Olivia turns on him, crossing the few feet to where he stands. Her palms land flat against his chest and she pushes on him, acutely aware of the height difference sans her heels she'd torn off her feet as soon as she'd reached her bedroom. "Why are you up here? They probably think I'm trying to jump your bones again! Why didn't you tell me? I wouldn't have..."

Elliot holds his arms up in surrender. "Liv, I tried to - it doesn't even matter, not really."

She levels him with a glare and drops her arms to her sides.

"Here, you left these downstairs…" he reaches into his pocket and pulls out her underwear, the lacy red material hanging from his calloused and scarred fingers teasingly; the grin that hangs at the corner of his lips spreads across his face.

Olivia's eyes widen in horror and she snatches the thong from him, a snarl ripping loose from her throat. "You sonofabitch . . . our five year old daughter saw us! _Twice!_ Your ex-wife! My brother! Your kids! Fin, Munch, Casey, Alex, Melinda...the rookies! Oh god, Don..." she throws herself down on her bed, burying her face in two of the thousands of pillows that littered their bed and screams.

Yup, death by mortification was definitely a thing.

A stinging sensation shakes her backside and her head snaps up.

"Did you just swat my ass?"

"Maybe I did." Elliot teases as he flops down on bed next to her, and plays with the hem of her dress before dipping underneath it. His fingers graze along the back of her left thigh and Olivia forces herself to suppress a moan at his machinations. "So, a couple people saw that you still have a sex drive at your old age..."

"Fuck you." Olivia hisses, her face red, flushed, as she turns over, shoving his hands away and yanking on the hem of her dress to pull it down.

"You've been trying to all day."

In that moment she hates him, hates him with a burning passion, and wants nothing more than to knock him upside his head.

"You're an ass."

"Yet, you married me."

"My mistake. Y'know, Bri was down there, too. But I guess since he's seen it all, you're –"

"I don't know why that dumb-ass showed up." Elliot snaps, blue eyes darkening and he sits up, the vein in his neck throbbing ever so slightly – almost undetectable to the untrained eye. If it wasn't for the sixteen years she'd known her husband, Olivia might have missed it too.

It was no secret that Elliot wasn't a fan of the former SVU detective - and Olivia's ex-boyfriend (an ex-boyfriend she'd once entertained the idea of possibly marrying). She knew Elliot's suddenly rigid, defensive position was due in part to jealousy. After Harris and after Sealview, Cassidy had been her port, a failsafe in the storm that had become her life. A chance meeting in a bar with Fin and some of his old narcotics buddies had brought the one-time one-night-stand back into her life, and they'd found common ground; and she _had_ loved him, but wasn't _in love_ with him.

"Who made the guess list for the surprise party I was adamant I _didn't_ want? If that was some sick joke on your part..."

"Dickie. I gave him your phone; I didn't know you had _his_ number still in there. And for your information, your daughter was adamant that we throw you a surprise party – with all of 'mommy's fwiends.'"

Olivia softened at the mention of Grace, the pique of annoyance turning to intrigue. "Gracie was in on this?"

"In on it? She spearheaded it, Liv. Do you remember last Monday when she didn't want you to tuck her in; she wanted me?"

The sting of rejection Olivia had felt when her daughter had turned her away in favor of her father is still fresh in Olivia's memory. She nods.

"She wanted me because she wanted to plan you a surprise so that you weren't sad on your birthday –again. The decorations – the cake – the surprise party in general, it was all her idea. She's an evil genius, that one. I didn't go to work earlier. I went down to help, well pay for your gift – which Gracie picked out by herself…"

Tears sting the corner of Olivia's eyes and her bottom lip trembles, her heart swells and she just wants to snuggle her daughter; hold Grace tightly and whisper her undying devotion and love into the little girl's soft, lavender scented hair. It was true, children remembered everything and paid far more attention than most adults gave them credit for.

"Gracie did this?"

"Yeah, Liv; with help, of course. Why else do you think she's been so quiet today? She was trying not to squeal."

"I thought she was getting sick from all that sugar she had this morning…"Olivia says, voice heavy as she wipes at her eyes. "She did all of this for _me_?"

"She did. You're her mother, and she loves you."

/

After changing into a pair of dark-wash jeans and an oversized navy blue sweater, Olivia made her way down stairs, refusing to be embarrassed any longer.

She was a sexual being of a certain age; she had nothing to be embarrassed about. Or so she kept telling herself.

What kept her feet moving towards her living room, towards a horde of people who'd literally caught her with her pants down, was her daughter – the baby-girl she thought she'd never have.

Descending the stairs at a glacial pace, Olivia smiles as the sounds of soft laughter, holiday music (no doubt her daughter's doing), and giggling children hits her ears.

Her fingers curl around the hem of her top and she takes a deep breath, passing through the living room and heading for the dinning room. Everyone seems to be lost in conversation – too engrossed with the latest of hot topics to notice her as she enters the room and takes it all in.

Her entire house has been re-arranged to make room for the many people shoved inside. Her dinning room table is shoved against the wall and covered in a white tablecloth; finger foods of all assortments line the top. There's a banner decorated in white, pastel purple, and pastel blue that hangs along the wall; instead of reading 'Happy Birthday Olivia' it reads 'Happy Birthday Mommy' and Olivia fondly recalls when Grace had found out Olivia's name wasn't Mommy, but Olivia.

"_Why did daddy call you Oh-leave-e-uh?_

_Because that's mommy's name. _

_No, it's mommy. _

_To you, baby, but to everyone else, I'm Olivia. Y' know, like you're Gracie? _

_But who named you Ooo-Leave-e-uh? _

_My mommy – your grandmother - did. _

_What was her name? _

_Serena. _

_Did her mommy name her? _

_Mhmmm. _

_I like that name. Can I call my dolly it? _

_If you want to, baby._

_Can I call you Oh-leave-e-uh?_

_Never. I'm mommy to you and I always will be. _

"Mommy's back!" Grace shouts, abandoning her cousins mid conversation, and breaking into a sprint and running straight for her mother. The sound of her voice tears Olivia from her thoughts, and the little girl launches her tiny body into her mother's arms. She smells like lavender, sugar, cinnamon, and a scent that is uniquely Grace, one that Olivia adored.

"Are you surpised, mommy?" Grace eagerly questions, as she reaches a tiny hand out to push back a fly away, unruly piece of hair that refuses to stay tucked behind Olivia's ear.

"Yeah, baby, I am." Olivia tells her truthfully, jostling Grace until she's resting on her right hip.

"Are you happy?"

"Yeah, baby, I am. Daddy said you did this all for me, all on your own…"

"Oh daddy." Gracie shakes her head as if she's exasperated with her father. "He helpt. So did Katie and Mo, and Lizzie and Kafy and Ditie. Eli even helpt. Grandpa Don gave me monies too…"

"He did, did he?" Olivia asks, chancing a glance across the room at her former captain who is currently locked in idle chitchat with none other than Brian Cassidy.

"Yup, he said _'Gracie this is for mommy's gift,_" Olivia has to bite down on her lip to stop from laughing as Grace's voice changes octaves and her eyebrows nit together in an attempt to mimic the old man,"and handed me monies."

"How about we go thank Grandpa Don, then?"

"Okay!"

Together they head towards the Captain, but a collective 'Happy Birthday' from the entire room stops Olivia in her tracks. Next thing she knows the lights are down and everyone is crowding around her singing; off key and out of sync the sounds of _Happy Birthday_ float through air.

Elliot appears then carrying a sheet cake with too many candles to count on top of it, grinning and singing.

_I hate you_, Olivia mouths at him, her grip on Grace's legs tightening as the little girl claps and cheers; her smile matching that of her father's.

_No you don't_, Elliot mouths back, the room grows somewhat quiet and Grace shouts 'Blow out the cantles, mommy!'

Olivia prepares to comply, but isn't afforded the chance. Munch cuts her off, wearing that devilish grin across his face.

"Yeah, hurry up, Liv before we have to call the fire department. That's a lot of candles."

"Shut up, Munch." She snaps good-naturedly, brown eyes narrowing on her long time friend.

"I'll take that lovely reply as an answer to my earlier pontifications about what you two were doing upstairs after that beautiful entrance."

"Hey man, that's my sister," comes Simons voice amongst the crowd.

Olivia opens her mouth in rebuttal when she's once again cut short.

"Then you should be more than happy for her. After years of not getting any, she gets it on demand." Casey quips from the corner soliciting laughter from the majority of the room.

"You ever wonder if they did it on your desk, Cap?" Munch adds and Olivia can feel the heat in her cheeks. She wants to turn around and shove the entire cake in Munch's face to get him to shut up.

"Ten bucks says they hit the cribs," Fin retorts from somewhere in the abyss of people and the laughter grows, intermittently mixed with sounds of 'eww' and 'that's just wrong' presumably from Elliot's kids, the Captain, and Simon.

"I can answer that!" Alex adds teasingly and Olivia's thankful that the lights are off, her hair is hanging over her bright red ears, and that crime of passion is an actual thing because she wants to kill them all.

"Alright there's kids in the room you perverts." Elliot shouts. "And this cake isn't getting any lighter…"

"Yeah, Liv. _Blow_." Munch snickers and Olivia swears that she's surrounded by puberty stricken and hormonal driven teens instead some of Manhattan's former and current finest. She's _going_ to kill them all.

Nonetheless, she looks at Grace whose tiny arms are wrapped around her neck and speaks. "Wanna help momma, baby?"

Grace doesn't get the chance to answer, though, because Mr. Elliot Jr pipes up, huffing, "Can we move any faster? I'm not getting any younger here people. I want cake!"

"Me, too!" Olivia's nephew Ty adds.

"Be twiet, Eli. It's mommy's birfday."

And now it's the children's turn to argue and Olivia just shakes her head.

"It's birth-" Eli doesn't get the opportunity to finish his words because Elizabeth is wrapping a hand around the youngest of the Stabler boys' mouth.

"Go on Liv. Make a wish." Elizabeth encourages and Olivia takes a deep, calming breath. Almost six years living life like this, and she still wasn't used to the constant stimulation of different personalities and people.

She'd been alone for so long…

"We count to tree, mommy?" Grace suggests, holding up three fingers and Olivia nods, marveling at how the ordered chaos was just perfect for her daughter.

"1, 2, 3!"

/

Empty paper plates and plastic cups litter the floor. Seasonal music plays in the background and the moonlight peaks in through the partially opened curtains of the bay window.

The party is split down the middle with the majority of the adults paired off and in deep in conversation. Maureen is discussing something with her mother's longtime boyfriend and mother, in the corner while Dickie dangles Ty and Eli's toys over their heads. Lizzie and Kathleen are idly chatting with Alex and Casey; Fin and Melinda are covertly in the corner, flirting the night away. The poor rookies – Amanda and Nick – have been cornered by Munch, no doubt to listen to the latest in his conspiracy theories; Tracey and Simon are in their own world while their snoozing daughter sleeps on her mother's chest. Both Don and Elliot stand off to the side, Grace in front of them, her little arms flying in air animatedly.

Olivia stands against her fireplace, in her living room, sipping eggnog and just watching; observing, and taking it all in because it hits her then, everyone is here for _her_.

She's so lost in amazement, in wonder, that she doesn't even realize that someone is watching her until Brian saddles up next to her. He's dressed head to toe in black, and there's a grin on his face; she has to admit (even if only to herself) he looks good; time's done him well.

It's been just about six years since they've spoken, and Olivia wonders if there's any resentment on his end. Twice they'd started a relationship, just for her to run in the opposite direction under the threat of something serious. The first time she'd ran because, while she wasn't able to admit it then, she was married to the job. The second time she'd been in love, deeply and irrevocably in love, with someone else.

"So, in all of the houses in all of Queens, you decided to show up at mine?" Olivia jokes, angling her body towards him as she embellishes on a _Casablanca_ quote.

"Well, what can I say, guess I'm a glutton for punishment…" his voice is gruff, smooth and smoky, just as she remembers it.

"You always have been." Olivia smiles ruefully, thinking about how she'd hurt him more than once over the years. "How are you, Bri? Really?"

"Bri, huh? I haven't heard that in a minute." he smiles fondly. "I'm okay, Liv. Doing good."

"I see you made sergeant over at narcotics. Mr. Hot Shot…got a missus?"

"Subtle there, Liv. Is your old age messing with your memory? Don't know what a polite question is or isn't?" he asks and Olivia knows he's joking by the way his eyes crinkle and a faint smile tugs at his lips.

"We're the same age, you ass."

"There's my, girl."

A roll of her coffee flecked eyes met his comment. "So, is there?"

"No, not right now… there have been a few here and there. Last one I fell in love with left her boot prints across my heart. She taught me a pretty tough lesson. I learned you can't look for love, it just hits you."

She doesn't have to be a rocket science to know that he's alluding to her. The personal validity in his words doesn't go un-noted either.

Falling in love with Elliot had been like riding a roller coaster: the climb to the top was slow and predictable. He'd been her friend, her rock; the one person who was there for her with no strings attached. And then Gitano happened and they'd reached the point of no return, the peak of the coaster and momentum took over. Together they were plunged deep into the twists and turns, curves and loops of love, kicking and screaming, hearts beating fast and nothing in their control.

"Let's be honest, Bri..."Olivia responds, brushing back a mahogany lock that insists on lingering in her dark lashes. "If I had said yes, we wouldn't have been happy." Brian nods, laughing lightly though there's no humor to his voice. Almost six years ago he had given her a choice, asked her a question while down on one knee that she hadn't expected at all.

_I can make you happy, Liv, if you'll just let me. Marry me?_ And she almost had.

The 'no' wasn't immediate; instead she had truly considered becoming Mrs. Olivia Benson-Cassidy. She'd held onto the Tiffany's box that had contained his grandmother's ring for almost a week before giving back to him.

"You're right." Brian agrees, leaning forward to brush the rebel lock into place once again. His fingertips brush against her cheekbone as he tucks it into place. "You would've been forever hung up on the incredible hulk over there..."

Olivia turns to see Elliot, his blue eyes fixed on them, appraising, sizing up, and scrutinizing. She can tell that he's exercising copious amounts of self-restraint too; from the way he grinds his jaw and the intensity of his stare. He's one possessive bastard who doesn't like to share. Wrapped around his left leg is a giggling Grace and he's parading her back and forth, along the floor to the tune of Jingle Bell Rocks.

"I would've." Olivia confirms without hesitation. "He and that little girl are my world. But that doesn't mean I didn't love you, either, Bri. I just wasn't _in_ love with you. Look, six years ago I was in a bad place – a bad way and you helped me out of it, more than you'll ever know, and I want you to know that I want you to be happy. You deserve someone who loves you – who is in love with you as much as I am with El. You're a good man, Bri." To cement her point, she closes the space between their bodies and kisses him softly on the cheek, his stubble tickles her lips.

She's happy to see a genuine smile on Brian's face as she steps back.

He nods, leaning against the dead fireplace. His eyes search the mantle and he stares at the pictures that are mostly of Grace and the rest of the Stabler children. "I'm glad you're happy, Liv. If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you."

"Thank you."

"Even if it is with the thing."

She swats at him then, careful not to spill her drink. "That's my husband."

"Yeah, poor you." he shakes his head in mock pity, ruefully sighing. "Anyways, what's going on with Casey? Is she seeing anyone?"

/

Solitude. Quiet. She finds it by escaping through her sliding glass doors that lead out onto the deck and into her backyard. The air is cool and crisp, the night is dark and surprisingly comforting; snow drifts towards the ground in flakes.

It's been one hell of a day and one hell of a night full of sexcapades, old-boyfriends, family, friends, and surprises. People who were currently packed into her house having animate conversations, singing, dancing, laughing all in celebration of her.

She just needed a moment; a moment to take it all in, but more importantly, Olivia needed a moment alone, to do something she hadn't done in ages: talk to her mother.

Chancing a quick glance behind her, Olivia wraps her arms around her midsection. She bites down on her bottom lip and takes a deep breath in, woefully admitting to herself that this is harder than she'd originally thought. Almost every conversation she'd had with her mother whilst Serena was alive had ended in an argument.

"Hey, mom…" Olivia whispers, gazing up towards the sky. "Long time since we last talked, huh? I think Gracie was three or four – remember? I thought I was going to lose her . . ." she pauses, biting down hard on her bottom lip to keep herself from sobbing at the mere memory of Grace's first asthma attack; the terror that had gripped her when Grace stopped breathing.

"But I didn't and she'll be six in June. I like to think that you had something to do with that…" Tears roll down her face and the taste of salt sinks into her tongue. "I like to think that, had you been alive you would have loved Gracie like you couldn't love me. There's so much love inside that little girl. So much that it's bursting at the seams. I think she would've stolen your heart, taken it and ran for the hills because she sure as shit stole mine." Another pause and Olivia chews on the inside of her cheek, thinking back to the day she'd found out that she was pregnant.

At forty-one –turning forty-two –she'd given up on ever having her own child. The bouts of sickness and the fainting spells she'd chalked up to lack of sleep and stress since. It wasn't until she'd worked a stakeout with Fin and she'd promptly fainted, that he'd dragged her to the hospital (kicking and screaming) that she discovered Grace growing inside of her.

_You brought me to a hospital, Fin? I was out for two minutes!_

_You were out for ten, now sit yo' stubborn ass back down on that stretcher. _

_Mrs. Benson? _

_Ms. Benson. _

_Have you been having any bouts of nausea lately? Have certain smells been getting to you? Tenderness of the breasts? Feeling narcoleptic?_

_I, uhm… I don't, I mean yes and no. There's been a bug going around at work and I think I may have picked it up. It's just the 24-hours flu or something though I'll be fine._

_You don't have the flu, Ms. Benson. You're pregnant._

_I'm what? _

_Pregnant. Judging by your hormone levels, I'm going to guess about six to eight weeks._

"She's the best thing that's ever happened to me, mom. And she loves me so openly. I just wish that you had let me love you like that. I tried too; I tried so hard. But you refused me…and I don't blame you – not any more, at least. I blame him. I just wish; I wished you had seen how much I loved you – that I still love you. …

Anyways, I'm forty-seven today, which you probably already know. I've been called old about ninety times today, but it doesn't bother me. I like where I'm at right now. I have a beautiful daughter I fall more in love with each day and my husband… he helped save me from myself.

I know you remember Elliot. You called him a self-righteous with a savior complex…well I guess we fit together perfectly. He's a savior and I've been told a few times over I'm a suffragette - a martyr, so…" Olivia chuckles.

"I ran from him for so long. Ran until I couldn't run any more. I even ran to Oregon of all fucking places. But we're good now. I let him love me, which was pretty damn hard. It was hard to let anyone love me, really. I thought I didn't deserve it, but El, he made me see that I did. And the first time I held Gracie – the unconditional love in those green eyes that she had for me…. I'm loved, momma. My baby loves me, and my brother – that's a story for another day; my step kids - I have _five_; Don… they love me. And I think you did, too. You just didn't know how to tell me. Anyways, I should go back inside. I just wanted to tell you that I'm doing okay and that I'm sorry. I couldn't save you, mom, and I'm slowly starting to see that it wasn't my place to save you – but I did manage to save myself. I love you, mom."

Her brown eyes stay trained on the sky, watching as the stars twinkle against the dimly lit Queen's backdrop and just once she wishes she could hear her mother's voice again. The winds whistle and Olivia cranes her neck against the sound just wishing to her that familiar sound she hadn't heard in so long.

But she gets nothing.

Instead of her mother's voice, though, she's afforded her husband's. "And I bet she loves you, too." Elliot's gruff bravado greets her, breaking through her thoughts; his warm breathing hits her ears, his arms wrapping around her waist, and his chin nuzzles into the crook of her neck.

She didn't even hear him open the sliding door. "How long have you been out here, listening to me talk to ghosts?"

"Did she really call me self-righteous with a savior complex?"

"Yeah, she did. It was during the Richard White…" the name alone causes Olivia to shudder. "I was pissed off because you insisted on accompanying me damn near everywhere those three days. Anyways, remember you had me flick my lights so that you knew I'd made it in?"

Elliot nods, his chin digging into her shoulder and she can feel his razor stubble against her skin. "Mhmmm."

"Well when I got upstairs my mom was waiting for me, it was our dinner night. She asked me why I was late and before I even got the chance to answer, you called. Asked me if I wanted you to circle back around and check things out before you drove home. I told you I could handle myself and before I knew it, my mom was in the window asking me what the cruiser looked liked. You'd already driven back around to check on me."

"So you saw me, then?"

"Yeah, and I watched you sit there for about twenty minutes or so, too. My mom asked me, and I quote 'how long is that self-righteous partner of yours with the savior complex going to stalk you'?"

"I wasn't stalking you! I was making sure the stalker wasn't stalking you…"

Olivia wiggles out of his grasp and turns into his arms, snuggling into his chest. Her arms come to rest around his neck and her nails brush against the thinning hair at the nape. "By stalking me. I was a grown woman, El. I knew how to take care of myself – and if you can remember that far back, I never let anyone take care of me."

Elliot rolls his ocean blue orbs, his warm breath hitting her cold skin and sending shivers down her spine, and he chuckles to himself. "It took almost ten years before you let me take care of you…"

They'd fought tooth and nail throughout her entire pregnancy about her inability to let others help her; they'd fought all the way up until their wedding day about that fact. She was better now, though, at letting others in; she knew she didn't always have to go in alone.

"I know. And I'm not sorry, either, but you knew what you were getting into."

"Yeah, I knew… so, I've had everyone from Melinda to Maureen offer to take Grace for the night. She's in there right now resting on Don's chest, sleepily telling him all about the _Beauty and the Beast_."

"Poor Don." Olivia laughs, though she knows that the man who's become her father over the years doesn't mind in the slightest, even if he was hearing the tale as old as time for the trillionth time.

"So what do you say we send her off then we finish what we started earlier?" For good measure he leans down, capturing her lips in his. He tugs on her bottom lip with his teeth, until she opens her mouth and he can run his tongue along hers. His hands trail underneath her sweater, his digits cool against her warm skin and she squirms, giggling into his kiss. "With baby away, mom and dad will play…"

They stand there for a few more moments, with roaming hands and searing kisses before Olivia finds the strength to stand back. She's breathing hard, lips swollen, and if she were a guy everyone would be able to see just how aroused she is.

"Looks like daddy is going to have to learn to be quiet because momma's baby is staying home tonight, birthday or not, I want my baby near me."

"But I wanted to do that thing to you over the kitchen counter…"

"You still can, you just can't scream."

"I think it's time everyone calls it a night."

"Me too."

..

Birthday: 4, Olivia: infinity.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** This was only supposed to be a two-shot, maybe five-thousand words, but it took on a life of its own. Anyways, it's finally done, even though I'm still not entirely happy with the ending. A big thank you goes to JoyfulJack-a-lackie on tumblr for her endless encouragement, too.

This chapter is rated M up until like the last two scenes.

babushka = grandmother.

**Disclaimer:** If you recognise it, it ain't mine.

* * *

><p><strong>It's My Party<strong>

(part 3)

The dishes are done, the decorations thrown away, and the house silent. Grace is tucked in, everyone's gone home and for Olivia, the night's just begun.

She sits in all her glory, dressed only in a pair of lace undies, on the faux granite island in her kitchen. Her long legs dangle dangerously over the side, heels banging softly against the cabinet doors. Chocolate icing drips from her fingertips as she nibbles on a piece of leftover cake, patiently waiting for her husband to take note of her risqué position.

"Liv." She hears him call from the opposite room, though chooses not to answer; determined to make him come to her.

"Liv, did you go-" the unfinished sentence hangs in mid air as Elliot rounds the corner to the kitchen, his bright blues nearly bulging out of his head at the sight of her.

His jaw clenches and unclenches, eyes taking every bit off her exposed flesh, from the tips of her manicured toes to her parted mouth. An ineloquent "fuck," tumbles from his lips.

Olivia grins, eyebrows wiggling suggestively as she sucks on a frosting covered finger slower than necessary, "I plan to. Cake?"

"Fuck." Elliot mumbles again, stumbling over a discarded trash bag that needed to be escorted outside as he makes his way further into the kitchen.

"Yes, we've established that. Now," she wags her icing filled fingers in his direction, "I want my birthday present, and from what I can see, you're more than ready to give it to me." Her eyes skim down to his black slacks and she can see the length of him straining to break free from the confines of his trousers.

One, two, three steps is all it takes before Elliot stands, eyes brimming with mischief, in between Olivia's legs. His hands trail towards her thighs and she sucks a deep breath in, a day's worth of anticipation threatening to overcome her.

His fingertips brush against the soft skin of her thighs and Olivia's lips part, mouth falling open in an O shape.

Fuck she wants -no direly needs this release now.

"El..." She encourages, her tone sodden with lust. "Come on…"

But he doesn't oblige. His fingers never make contact with her warm skin; instead he snatches the cake that sits forgotten next to her right thigh and unceremoniously smashes it across Olivia's face, down her neck, and to the valley between her breasts, catching her so far off guard that she shrieks. A smug look of satisfaction falls across his face and he takes a step back, biting at the bits of cake still stuck to his hand.

Olivia blinks hard, her chest heaving, and her perfectly plucked eyebrows knitted in confusion. It takes her a minute to gather that he's _actually_ covered her in cake, that chocolate frosting is wedged between her breasts in an Elliot shaped hand-print.

"You bastard." She seethes, eyes narrowed. "You bastard, you fucking bastard."

"Happy birthday, babe." He smirks and Olivia's determined to wipe that grin off of her face, one way or another.

She crosses the kitchen, ignoring him as she heads to the sink and turns on the warm water. Her fingers are reaching for the paper towel when an idea suddenly hits her. Within seconds the water is off and she's leaning against the counter. She packs her voice with as much authority as she can muster, Detective Benson taking over as she speaks.

"Get over here and lick it off. Now."

He's all too willing to oblige too, his actions prove such as he crosses the few feet to where she stands. One cake covered hand grabs hold of her waist, the other one trails up her right side, the calloused pad of his hand causing her to shiver. His gaze trails over her breastbone, her shoulders and the column of her neck, and he bends his neck, licking his lips.

"Fuck, you're so damn beautiful," he murmurs before his possessive mouth crashes down on hers.

It'd taken so long for her to believe those words. So many men had said them to her in passing but before him, before this she'd never truly considered herself beautiful. Maybe she hadn't cared, or maybe years of listening to her mother tell her she wasn't special had stuck with her, but either way, every time Elliot spoke those words to her over the years, she believed him.

"Sexy as hell." Elliot murmurs hoarsely against her lips. His kiss soon turns desperate, frenzied and his tongue is driving into her mouth and demanding entrance, which she's too willing to give. His free, frosting-less hand fists in her hair and he's drawing her hard against him, her cake covered breasts brushing against the cotton of his button down, leaving chocolate imprints behind.

Olivia shudders, her arms curving around his neck as his tongue delves deeper, further into her mouth, the sweet taste of cake intermixing with a taste that is solely Elliot. It's a taste she's come to crave, to need like the air she breathes.

A throaty moan slips from Olivia's lips, and her fingers slide through the thin wisps of his graying hair, her body molding to his like a second skin.

His hand grips the back of her neck, forcing her mouth harder against his, yanking on her hair and soliciting a hiss from her lips. The wetness and heat that builds between her legs threatens to level her and she's widening her stance, spreading her legs against his large body, and pressing herself against his straining erection.

Her pelvis rocks against his hard on and she cries out, lips breaking from his and her head lolling back. His fingers bite into her flesh, gripping the delicate lace roughly, yanking her against him as his lips begin their assault on her neck. He licks at the cake that covers her clavicle leaving wet sticky kisses in his wake.

"Fuck you, El." Olivia hisses noncommittally, her own hands falling to his shoulders, nails digging into his clothed flesh and it dawns on her that he's wearing too many damn clothes. She wedges her arms into the liminal space between their bodies and yanks at his buttons. In soft pitter-patters the buttons falls to the floor and he chuckles softly, lips still against her skin.

"You're going to," he retorts, teeth grazing against her breast before lapping at the chocolate icing.

A wave of pleasure rockets over her, drawing a moan from deep in her throat as he then fastens his mouth on her left nipple, biting, retreating, drawing more of her into him until he's sucking her into his mouth. Her fingers pull at his ruined shirt, dropping it to the floor, and she decides that she needs to get her legs around him, his body inside of hers before she comes undone just from this.

Insider of her, her body contracts wildly, her heart beating to the pace of his sucking. She needs his fingers, the thickness of his erection and his tongue.

Desperation quickly takes over. And Olivia swears if he does that thing with his tongue and teeth, one more time, she's going to come. She hasn't been this sensitive to his touch since she was pregnant with Grace.

"Elliot," she protests. "Elliot, come on. Fuck me. Please god, just fuck me."

"I'm not god…" he jokes, his left hand untangling from her hair and it skims lightly down her body until he's palming her ass, guiding her hips against his pelvis and grinding his girth against her.

White-hot lights flash behind her eyelids at the sensation building in the pit of her stomach, and she realises then that she's closed her eyes. Between her thighs a fire has been ignite d, so intense and consuming that she doesn't realise she's alone. His mouth is gone, his hands, everything; he's no longer touching her.

Her eyes open, her skin suddenly freezing, too aware of the December air and the slight chill that hangs in the house that's larger than anything she's ever called home before.

"El?" she calls out in confusion. "El?" And she regains enough of her sanity to focus in on his looming figure. "What are you doing?"

He doesn't answer her; instead he drags his undershirt over his head and stands before her, bare chest heaving.

Olivia lets her eyes rove appreciatively, following the trail of hair that leads from his stomach to his dick, and she licks her lips in approval, silently hoping that this is it, that at any second he's going to drop his pants, rip away her lace and fuck her until she's crying out for god.

Determination seizes hold of her then and shaky legs carry her towards him. She barely manages to move an inch before he stops her, falling to his knees in front of her, and his lips come to rest on the band of her underwear where he places a hot chaste kiss.

"I'm taking care of the birthday girl…" He whispers, voice thick, throaty and raspy, the vibrations causing goose flesh to ripple along her arms.

Carefully he guides her backwards until she's gripping the counter, calves banging into the cherry wood, her fingers curling underneath the counter ledge.

Calloused, scarred, thick fingers grip the delicate lace in hand and he guides her underwear down, over her hips, and bunches the material up in a ball, tossing it over his shoulders. In one swift movement he grips her thighs and tosses both of her legs over his shoulders, burying his face in the already wet curls at the juncture between her legs.

Olivia's not ready. Not in the slightest. The yelp that dances from her lips paired with the way her thighs clench as one of his hands folds possessively around her leg and the other flattens against her stomach to keep her in place is proof enough of her unpreparedness.

"Oh shit, El...shiiiiit." She moans, toes curling, and her fingers grasp the edge of the counter so tightly that the skin of her knuckles damn near becomes translucent. "Fuck. Oh fuck."

His teeth graze the sensitive flesh and Olivia's head falls back, eyes fluttering shut. A gasp of pure innate and uninhibited pleasure saunters from her lips, which soon turns to a strangled whimper as his tongue slips between her folds and she swears to all that is holy she's seeing stars. Not those small twinkling stars in the sky, either, but big massive sun bright stars. His machinations are a mix of a firm licking and tortuous sucking as his mouth trails the length of her, teasing her clit before slipping between her folds once again.

He sucks and nips, teases and licks until she's quivering, her body slackening beneath his mouth and she loses her grip on the countertop. Relentlessly he fucks her with his tongue, his rough stubble biting against her skin.

"I've got you, Liv. Let go," comes Elliot's muffled voice and her hands grip the short strands of his barely-there hair, her hips bucking forward.

And she dies a little death.

Dizziness sets in, her head lolls back, and blotches of color dance behind her eyelids.

She's whimpering, crying out, and calling his name as she explodes almost violently against his still roving tongue.

He coaxes all he can from her, greedily lapping at her juices, his fingers leaving indentations on the olive tone skin of her supple thighs. She's going to be covered in bruises come tomorrow.

Mouth still wet, eyes still hungry, and Elliot slithers up the length of her body, her thighs still in his grasp. She wants to wrap her legs around him, hold him in a vice grip between the crux of her thighs, but she can't find the energy as of yet.

All she can muster up enough inertia to even say is an ineloquent "fuck." Her head falls into the crook of his neck, her cheek resting against his hot skin, and her arms draped limply around his neck.

He angles his head to press a sloppy kiss against her cheek. Her breasts press against his bare chest, the cotton soft against her sensitive flesh; the fact that she's dead weight hoisted in his arms, sandwiched between the counter and his body barely a thought.

"I'm still sticky," she murmurs lazily. "You didn't get all of the chocolate off."

"Guess that means we're not done yet then." He says, jostling her in his arms. He wraps one arm tightly around her waist, and the other under her ass.

Olivia grins, flexing her toes, straining her calves, and straightening her back. Her body is still heavy, sensitive, and he's still rock hard against her core. "Of course not. One tongue twisting orgasm isn't going to suffice, old man. I want to come with you inside of me."

"Upstairs?"

"Just don't wake the baby."

"Then don't scream."

/

They're like two drunken teens sneaking around past curfew, fumbling, stumbling, and giggling, through the arch of their bedroom doorway. Elliot's oversized hands palm her naked ass and Olivia's nimble fingers diligently yank at his belt buckle. A joyous 'yes' resounding from her lips once the leather is undone and she's ripping it from it's loops.

"A bit zealous there, huh?" Elliot asks, leading her towards the bed, his tongue finding its way into her mouth, muffling her readied retort.

When the back of Olivia's knees bump into the bed, Elliot pauses, pulling away from her long enough to yank the comforter cover off, along with the majority of the pillows, leaving the bed with only a pale purple matching flat and fitted sheet set.

He picks her up then, wrapping her legs around his waist. The polyester of his pants rubbing uncomfortably against her, but she doesn't care. It's all the more reason for him to remove the impeding fabric. He deposits her onto the bed on her back, the fabric soft against her backside, and hooks each thumb into the belt-loops of his jeans. Immediately she rises to her elbows, planting her feet firmly against the bed.

Anxiousness and anticipation flood her veins.

But Elliot makes no moves; instead he just stares.

And she's suddenly nervous under his gaze. Six years and one child, yet somehow she's still nervous. Sprawled out on the bed beneath him, and beneath that scrutinizing gaze. She knows she's aged over the years, her body isn't as toned as it once was, and there's a slight roundness to her belly. Compared to him, she feels as if she's let herself go, unraveled underneath the weight of being a full time mother, step-mother, wife, and working woman. A part of her actually wants to hide from the intensity of his eyes.

"El-" she starts, not certain where her words are going, but he shakes his head. His hot eyes fall to the juncture of her thighs, and then sweeps up to the faint horizontal line, roughly six inches in diameter that rests just below her pubic hairline; her C-section scar.

Due to a rough bout of preeclampsia, a natural birth with Grace had not been an option.

He hovers between her legs, a knee on other side of him and the tips of his large, yet gentle fingers brush against the scar.

Olivia shivers, shutting her eyes to block out the momentary butterflies. She conjures whatever strength she has left so as to not close her thighs and breathes, mouth hanging open in confusion. "What are you doing, El? It's just a scar - I have a dozen or so of them."

"It is and you do, but its so fucking beautiful. Just like you, and just like that little girl it brought into the world."

She's not going to cry. Not now at least.

With a forced eye roll, she smirks at him - shoving off the looming yet small insecurities. "Drop your pants, Stabler."

/

He's one jealous, possessive bastard, even in his lovemaking.

Hundred of times he's kissed her, marked her as his, working his way up her body. First her thighs and then her hips. His mouth slides over her scar and his nose brushes along her belly button. She laughs softly beneath him, fidgeting and kicking her legs out before his lips skim across her ribcage and up the underside of her breast.

The laughter dies on her lips when he draws her nipple into his mouth, teeth teasing. She grasps at the thin wisps of his hair, arching her back ever so slightly. He's nestled between the crux of her thighs, though not yet in her. His naked body rests like a sheath of granite on top of her, to her comfort. She can feel the pecs of his muscled chest pressed hard against her soft curves and she reveals in the all encompassing and overwhelming sensation.

"I want you inside of me." She says softly, bending her long legs at the knee, feet flat on the bed and encouraging him to enter her. Her left hand comes up to brush across his forehead and she smiles warmly. "Please."

Elliot's hand moves up her thigh, draw her even more into him, and her hips rise off the bed.

"Come on, El. Stop teasing me already. It's _my_ birthday, remember."

He smiles, eyes crinkling just above the apples of his cheeks as his eyes crinkle, but still says nothing.

"I know you're dying, I can feel just how hard you actually -"

He chooses that moment to let his mouth descend on hers and to drive, unrelentingly into her core. He spears her body with his own and she gasps into his mouth. Her hands slid down his back and her nails dig into his flesh, criss crossing and drawing droplets of blood; patterns and proof of their lovemaking.

"I love you so fucking much, Olivia." He manages gruffly, hissing at her touch, hips driving into hers slowly; with purpose.

"I love you, too." She whispers, long legs coming to wrap around his waist, and he gets the message then. He fucks into her harder, her legs spreading wider, his pelvic bone grounding feverishly against her clit.

One of his hands yanks on her thighs, pulling her hard against him, against his thrusts to create friction between their bodies and the other grips her shoulder, fingertips biting into her flesh. She's definitely going to have to wear a sweater tomorrow.

Beneath them the bed creaks and any intelligible words get caught in Olivia's throat.

Their hips move to a rhythm all their own and he's yanking one of her arms from around his neck and trapping her fingers in his above her head. He fucks into her relentlessly, unforgivingly and in all his glory. Her hips rise off the bed and she fights to draw him in further. It's taking everything in her to remain quiet, to keep her voice low because all she wants to do is cry out, scream his name.

She's drowning in him; he's all over her, on every inch of her skin. Each thrust of his hips leaves her breathless, head spinning underneath the sensations he's building inside of her.

He rolls his hips harder - faster - with punishing strokes and she can't stop the strangled cries that rip from her throat. "El…"

She twists her head until she finds his mouth, gently biting on his bottom lip, and then soothing it with her tongue.

Harder. Faster. Relentlessly. They fuck. The sheet pulls away from edge of the bed and Olivia screams into his mouth, her walls convulse around him as he hits that one spot inside of her. Over and over again. Chasms of pleasure flood her body, and she shakes, hips bucking upward as he continues to drive into her until he's coming, too.

He makes no move to withdraw as his weight collapses onto her wet body, head resting on her chest, and Olivia doesn't mind. His weight is comforting, his body a second skin. White noise overcomes her, and the room begins to fade away.

Before she's completely out she mutters, "still sticky."

Elliot laughs.

Six years together, and he still knows how to play her body like a finely tuned instrument.

/

One shower and sheet change later, Olivia lays on her side, facing her husband. His fingertips dance up her naked arm and one of his legs rests snugly between hers.

A sliver of moonlight peaks into their bedroom through the cracked curtains, just enough to illuminate their bodies.

They'd made love once more, after she'd made her way into the shower rid herself of the leftover cake bites sinking into her flesh. He'd offered his helping hand, extending his civic duty that ended with her moaning and grunting as he took her from behind, his hand moving feverishly between her thighs.

Every inch of her is heavy, exhausted from the long day and eventful night, yet she can't fall asleep. So she trades sleep for starring a lifetime into those blue eyes she can't ever get enough of, committing every inch of his face to memory, and wondering just how she managed to exist before being allowed to openly love him.

"Liv," Elliot whispers into the dark, his palm closing around the top of her arm. "You're happy, right?"

His question knocks her off balance and props herself up, bending her arm up at the elbow and resting her chin on her open palm. "Of course I am. Where did…"

"You've been in this fog, this haze all day. What's wrong?"

"Nothing now." She tells him truthfully, thinking back to the manner in which her day had started and how it'd turned around. "I'm okay," he throws her a look of skepticism and Olivia laughs lightly. "And I'm not just saying that, either."

She unwraps her legs from his and sits up, against their headboard, and holds their pale purple comforter against her. After the shower she hadn't bothered dressing and was now paying for it in the December air.

" Look El, It's just hard. I always think about her today, about how I took away her life. You know, she'd be seventy years old. My babushka lived to be eighty-four. Longevity runs in the family. What if my mom would've lived until then? Without me. She could have been happy. Maybe a few kids, grandkids…. I just wanted to forget that I took all of that away from her. I just wanted to forget." And the tears are clawing at her throat, trying to find a way to get out. Deep breaths in and out, she closes her eyes.

There's no hesitation in Elliot's actions as he sits up, and pulls her naked frame against his. Tenderly, he peppers kisses along the crown of her head, then her forehead until he reaches her closed eyelids.

"You didn't take away her life, Liv. Joseph Hollister did. What happened to your mom, that wasn't and never will be your fault. There is nothing for you to atone for. You can't think about the what-ifs. You can't baby because they'll drive you insane."

The tears are warm and salty as they slide down her cheeks, sinking into the space between her lips. She buries her head into his chest and just cries. His fingers are hot against the already clammy skin of her lower back, but she doesn't care. His touch, his embrace, they're her anchor; they keep her tied to the here and now.

A few moments pass and they break apart.

"I'm going to go put some clothes on and turn up the heat." Olivia whispers, voice thick as she slowly but surely finds a way to pull herself together.

The bed creaks beneath her as she untangles from his warm embrace and paddles over to the dresser. She pulls on a pair of underwear and opts to steal one of Elliot's oversized Yankee tees, and then crosses over to the heat dial, thankful that they'd put in more than one control switch.

When the heat kicks on, a whooshing sound fills the air and the heating ducts creak to life. Olivia's brown eyes fall on the bedroom clock to see that it's 3AM, and she knows what's coming next. Grace.

She throws him a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. "Put your clothes on, we've got countdown."

"Never fails, does it?" Elliot asks, and Olivia smirks, knowing that he's thinking back to all the nights when their little one's furious knocking broke apart a heavy session of lovemaking. It was almost as if Grace was attuned to the sound of the heating ducts, as if she waited for it.

The knock on the door is low, soft and is quickly followed by an almost inaudible, "mommy."

"Clothes on?" Olivia asks.

"Yeah."

And she meanders over to her bedroom door, turning the light switch on and unlocking it.

In front of her stands Grace, stuffed lion wrapped tightly in arms, Princess Tiana on the front of her pastel green nightgown.

"The monster woked me up. Can I sleep with you and daddy?" Her little voice squeaks sleepily.

Olivia smiles wide, scooping her 'getting-too-old-for-this' daughter into her arms and paddles back towards bed.

"Daddy, you and mommy hafta vanish the monster betus this is riditulous."Grace states matter-of-factly as she crawls into the space between Elliot and where Olivia sleeps. Her words cause Olivia to laugh; only five and she already had a flair for the dramatics.

Turning on the bedside lamp she often used to read, Olivia then skates over to the main light switch and flicks it off. Between the moonlight and the lamp, the room is basked in a warm glow. Chubby fingers push back mahogany coloured locks as Gracie situates herself and pats the spot next to tiny body, motioning for her mother to get into bed.

"Uncle Munch says that the monster is the gobernets watching us to in...pringe on our six libraries. Can you arres the gobernets so they stop scaring me?" Grace asks, yawning.

"Uncle Munch said what?" Elliot questions and Olivia can feel the onslaught of giggles build in her stomach as she slides into bed, beneath the comforter, her coffee flecked eyes studying the modern marvel that is her daughter.

"Uncle Munch says the gobernets are watching us, can't you hear, old man?" Grace questions with an exasperated sigh, as if she's spent all day repeatedly giving the same explanation. Elliot's eyes widen, his greying eyebrows rising at his daughter's choice of words, and his expression finally causes Olivia to give in to her laughter.

"Old man? Oh yeah?" and then he's tickling Grace and the young girl's melodic laughter fills the air. "Who taught you that, you're mother? Huh? She teach you to call me old?"

It's 3AM on a Sunday morning, and there's nowhere in the world that Olivia would rather be.

"Daddy, stop. You gotta stop. I just remembered somethin. I never gave mommy her gift." The out of breath toddler pleads through bouts of giggling. Her little feet are flying everywhere and Olivia knows that if he keeps up his antics, the sheets will need to be changed again.

"Alright, El. Come on, I want my gift!" Olivia implores, playfully batting Elliot's hands away from Grace. An out of breath Grace sits up, her hair sticking straight up and she huffs, pushing the brown locks from her face.

"Old man." Grace grins, poking her father in the chest defiantly, and then immediately jumps into her mother's lap. Olivia wraps her arms around her daughter, hiding the little girl from her father's roving hands.

"I'll get you later…" Elliot promises, retreating.

"So, if you two are done, can I get my gift now?"

"Oh mommy, wait here!" In a flash Grace jumps down, running to the door when the heating vents decompress once again and she stops in her tracks. "Daddy…"

"I'm coming, baby." Elliot says, chuckling as he gets out of bed. As he walks Olivia watches his ass in appreciation, silently thankful that he still sought fit to work out like a fiend.

The father/daughter duo disappears down the hall and into Grace's room and roughly five minutes later they've resurface. Grace is lugging a medium-sized silver and white bag that hits her shins as she drags it along. There's a look of determination in her eyes.

"Okay. Here we is." she announces triumphantly, as she walks over to Elliot's side of the bed and waits for him to lift her up. Once he does, Grace resituates her tiny body, angling herself to face her mother. "You hafta close your eyes." She instructs, the tone of her little voice signaling that she's not in the mood for any arguments.

Olivia nods and does as instructed. The sound of rustling paper and crinkling bags litter the air and then she feels tiny hands in hers and something – a box – is being pressed into her hands.

"Open your eyes now."

And she does. In hand she holds a white box that reads 'Pandora.' Slowly she opens it and inside sits a silver bracelet with four charms.

"It's elephant, mommy! Just like you."

"I think she means elegant…" Elliot adds through a set of chuckles and Grace turns towards him, eyes narrowed.

"That's what I said!" she insists.

"Oh Gracie, you picked this all out on your own?"

"Katie and Daddy helpt. They read the words to me and telled me what each one means. See," Grace says as she crawls into Olivia's lap and points at the beads. "This one is love betus I love you," she points to the ash pink bead sitting on the bracelet. "This one is … joy betus you said I was your joy," her finger lands on a silver bead with polka dots on it.

"This one is stalility because it sounded like daddy," she gestures to another silver bead with vertical grooves in it. "And this one is strong betus you're strong like Mulan."

"Yes, love, joy, stability, and strength." Elliot repeats for clarification purposes and Olivia starts to cry.

Hard, unforgiving tears of joy slip down Olivia's olive tone skin. Grace must get the wrong message then because she crawls into her mother's lap, tiny fingers swiping at the tears.

"I'm sorry mommy. I didn't mean to make you sad. Please don't be sad. Daddy, I did a bad thing. I made mommy sad. Mommy, I'm sorry."

"I'm not sad, Gracie. You didn't do anything bad, baby. Nothing at all." Olivia promises, closing the jewelry box and setting it on the nightstand. "Mommy's crying because she's happy and grateful, to have you; to have daddy."

"Are you sure?" inquires the child, and Olivia nods dutifully, wrapping her arms around her daughter's tiny body and coddling her.

"I love you, my little saving Grace Magdalena Stabler."

"I love you, mommy. And you, too, daddy."

"Yeah, you too, daddy." Olivia repeats, still crying as she kisses the top of her daughter's head and looks over at the smiling face of her husband.

_Fins._


End file.
